


And He's Blue

by WhenIFindLoveAgain



Category: I Like It When You Sleep For You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware Of It - Evelyn R. Loss, Original Work
Genre: Blue - Freeform, Character Study, Diary, F/F, F/M, Grey, Journal, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Original Art, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original work - Freeform, Paganism, Romance, everything is blue, he's blue, original non fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22234057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenIFindLoveAgain/pseuds/WhenIFindLoveAgain
Summary: The soundtrack of "Lliwiau" and a testament of youth when you're a Cymry Pagan.Just a tiny bit.Probably doesn't sound very attractive but if you give this a read maybe I can break your heart and fix it
Kudos: 2





	And He's Blue

_Mae popeth yn las_

  
_Ei enaid, ei ddwylo, ei jîns_

  
_Ac yn awr Rwy'n cael ei orchuddio yn y lliwiau_

  
_Tynnu ar wahân ar y gwythiennau_

  
_Ac mae'n las_

  
_Ac mae'n las_

  
_Mae popeth yn llwyd_

  
_Ei wallt, ei fwg, ei freuddwydion_

  
_Ac yn awr mae mor amddifad o liw_

  
_Nid yw'n gwybod beth mae'n ei olygu_

  
_Ac mae e'n las_

  
_Ac mae e'n las_

I walked along through the Botanical Gardens, in my own little world. Soft suede high-heeled boots, linen skirt, cotton bag with my laptop, books, notebook, earphones, records inside. "Lliwiau" in my head like a feverish dream, making me bright and vibrant as I thought about the Gods and the naturalism which I walked on, as a naturalism myself.

Can't tell I'm a Cymry Pagan, yet?

And, just so suddenly that it was too soft for any major reaction other than my sense fading, I just saw him lying on the grass. Even though I gazed as I did, I knew it was him. I always know it's him. 

My heart always swells up at the thought.

I just stood there. I couldn't go up and talk to him, a part of me and a part of him also refused. Complicated relationships, unorthodox ones, poisonous ones, dreamscape one, blue ones, grey ones. I want to smoke, but I couldn't. Wreck the temple of my body or elevate it to a high?

Goddess knows and sometimes she might tell me if I can listen to her in-between the aura of that boy.

He just had on blue jeans and a latte-coloured hoodie; laid back on the grass with his arms above his head and his big chunky dark blue headphones on over his ears.

_How'd it be if he was listening to "Lliwiau"?_ I thought to myself.

But he wouldn't be. Why listen to a song in _Cymraeg_?

I couldn't stay there gazing at him forever, but I had a camera with me. They were designed to capture beautiful things, mundane things, unbelievable things. This was a boy who was never going to touch me and was never going to look at me without thinking I was strange and unusual and terrifying Pagan. I want a piece of him. It's ugly and bitter and dark, but nothing so bright and alive as how my camera did not make a sound as it photographed that boy on the grass, surrounded by bluebells and white English daises under a Elm tree, in his own little world as I was - am - in mine.


End file.
